


Afterwork conversation

by sherbal



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M, friendship?, theological rubbish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11175252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherbal/pseuds/sherbal
Summary: about the recent Hammond's accident.Thank God he's okay.





	Afterwork conversation

**Author's Note:**

> right, first thing first, it's a fan fiction. No hard feelings.  
> And perhaps include minor horrible words about God?  
> just minor, really.  
> viewer discretion is advised

Jeremy, sat in the dark, with a bottle of beer in hand, alone but not entirely alone.

"It happened." He mumbled to the darkness.

"Yeah, later than I thought." There was something, or perhaps someone sitting in the opposite corner of this shabby cabin in Jeremy's backyard.

"He just can't quit and go home, can he?" Jeremy sipped his ice cold beer.

"Although I don't see a problem in what he's doing now, I do agree with you, Clarkson. It'll be a hell lot of easy if he stayed at the local radio station talking about shitty 70s music or the traffic." The creature in the corner put its right hand through its messy hair, making it messier than usual.

"And the world will be more than happy to lose one squeaking midget jumping up and down, rolling over, falling down on national television." Jeremy smiled at remembering those lovely and mostly funny memories.

"Anyway, there will not be another time, right?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"What do you have left to offer, Jeremy? You've paid your health, your reputation, your happiness for the last couple of times. What can you possibly have to exchange if there... is another one waiting for him?" A man's hand put down his beer on the floor next to Jeremy. It was a crowded cabin after all.

"I didn't pay my happiness. You know, this sort of thing, like happiness or sorrow, are all emotions, which means they can't be given away. It's like an inexhaustible mine. There're always emotions. I'm glad those fellows up there still haven't realized this." Jeremy sighed.

"But Frances..."

"Listen, don't you dare start it."

"But it's true..."

"Let's just forget about this, alright? But me no but. No, actually, you're his fucking guarding angel, James! Not me!"

The man named James grabbed the beer bottle from the floor but found it empty, then, after a flick of fingers, the beer was full again.

"Shut up, Clarkson. Oh god damn it! I hate this bloody job."

The beer was still ice-cold in Jeremy's hands, though it was hot in the cabin.

"Watching over a midget is definitely much more fun than reading HIS daily briefings, isn't it? At least you don't have to see that old fart from day to day, whispering the verses in the purest voice. Wearing halo and white gowns, dancing on the clouds with bare feet." Jeremy laughed.

"Between you and me, Clarkson. I fucking miss it." May rubbed his tired eyes with his hands.

"But you chose to get down for him. What an excellent choice! Bravo, James." Jeremy applauded quietly.

"Yeah, can't go back now." Then after a comfortable silence, " But he's worth it."

James stood up and after another flick of fingers, the beer bottle disappeared.

"Gotta go. Have to do my monthly report. You know how annoying those in charge can be." He dusted sands from his jeans.

"You were in charge. And look now how your subordinates treat you!" Jeremy was still holding his cold beer in hands, not moving.

"They're a bunch of ungrateful bastards. Sadly, there's nothing I can do. Bye, mate." He walked out of the door.

The cabin was again cold and dark without the presence of an angel. The temperature fell several degrees.

It was getting rather cold in here, in contrast to the hot summer outside.

"Yeah, he's worth it." Jeremy said to the air. The beer in his hands was getting even cooler. He stood up slowly, trying to ease the pain of his back. And then opened the door and walked out.

The rusty scythe rested against the wall of the cabin shone again. There will always be a last time.

But gladly, not now.

It'll be many many years later.

 

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by "Good omens" by Neil Gaiman and other theological things  
> and yes, hope Richard and his family& friends are all okay. It's a terrifying accident but I'm sure his guarding angel is excellent enough to watch over him now and in the future.


End file.
